The Fall
by C. Nichole
Summary: A girl who didn't believe in creatures of the night and a man consumed by darkness. Together, can they break the curse that has condemns him? Or will the price for his redemption be the destruction of her innocence? Happy Halloween, everyone!


_Something different for the holiday :)_

_Happy Halloween! _

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_A shot in the dark_

_A past, lost in space_

_And where do I start_

_The past, and the chase_

_You want to be gone _

_Like a wolf,_

_A predator – I feel like a deer in the light_

David Guetta featuring Sia, She Wolf (Falling to Pieces)

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Once upon a time, I was a girl who didn't believe in nonsense. I didn't believe in faeries, I didn't believe in mermaids; I stayed out of the forests of Mount Nibel because I didn't want to get eaten by an _animal, _not a mythical creature.

My father said that when I was born, I popped out with a fully-formed, adult mind – I just didn't seem to have the time or the desire to play around the supernatural. My fantasies were always firmly based in the reality of what was and what had been.

Because of this, I also didn't believe in fear – if monsters and creepy crawlies aren't real, what is there to be afraid of? And so I found myself, sixteen years old, over-confident and more than happy to take up a double-dare: go and spend two hours in the old, Shinra mansion, and bring back some sort of proof that I'd been in there.

Easy as pie. My friends had seemed so shocked – none of them had ever worked up the courage to walk through the front gate, let alone down the overgrown walkway and up onto the steps of the decaying home. It was said to be haunted, but I'd never met any ghosts to prove it one way or the other, and I had been in and around the property at least a million times before. For some reason, the mansion had always been a fascinating place for me, constantly drawing me further into itself. But I'd never actually been in the house. I'd go further that day – I was set on impressing Kyle Morton, the cutest seventeen year old I'd ever seen.

"I bet you don't have the guts," Jessica had pouted at me; she'd been jealous that Kyle had been paying more attention to me than her.

"I bet you I do," I said back confidently, "I've been up on the steps plenty of times; going in'll be nothing."

"Prove it, Tifa," she spat back.

And I did. Checking my watch, I noted the time and set my alarm; I called to my friends over my shoulder: "See you at two."

I think about that day, probably more often than I should. Would I have gone up those steps and into that house if I'd known what would greet me there? Would I have done things differently? Sometimes I think so, but there are other times when I know I would have done the same damn thing, regardless.

I always do what I want, and on that day I wanted to go into that mansion.

It was harmless enough, and honestly if I'd just stuck around the entrance, I'd have been fine.

Gone out in an hour with some random token.

Met with my friends.

Laughed.

Dated.

Married.

Had children.

Lived a life full of brightness and light, never touched by the dark – the things that hide in the shadows, invading our minds with fear and yet… also irrepressible curiosity. Maybe our minds like to think that we can puzzle out a solution for the darkness, if only we try hard enough and wish strong enough then we'll be able to make a change; good always triumphs over evil, right?

But what happens when the good becomes tainted, and doesn't want to change back?

_He_ found me that day.

The entrance wasn't locked, though it looked more like the door had been busted in because it was broken along the edge of the lock. It slid open rather easily, with dust floating down onto my face from the movement.

The mansion was just as interesting as I'd always imagined it would be. Depressing and decaying, it was obviously a beautiful place to live at one time.

The air was musty and damp; it had rained recently and it seemed as if some of the water had seeped in through the roof and into the main entranceway. It wasn't as dark as I had expected, the windows were remarkably clean and let enough light in that I could get a good view of the room.

A large staircase led upwards, but the wood of the stairs seemed too rickety to brave, so I decided to explore to my left.

A twin-set of giant doors led to what was probably once a great room for entertaining and it looked almost like one of those old-fashioned ballrooms from some historical romance.

I giggled to myself, imagining that I was a young debutant, belle of the ball. Noticing an overturned chair in the corner, I swayed and sashayed my way over – hoping to find some trinket that I could bring back to my friends to prove that I'd gone inside.

The last step, I tripped a little and landed harder on the ground than I'd intended…only to find it crumble beneath my feet.

Frantic, I latched out to grab something, anything as I fell. It all slipped through my fingers.

The last thing I remembered was praying that I wouldn't die.

That I still had so much to do, so much to live for.

And then the world went black.

I came to with a start, though my movements were lethargic and I felt like I could hardly move.

A shiver of awareness went up my spine, the fine hairs at the back of my neck rising.

It was the first time I met him, and I'll never forget it.

He was watching me from the other side of the room, body relaxed in an old, leather high-back chair. I still don't know how he was able to control himself, so close to me after so long without the company of an innocent female, like me. But he did. He sat, regal as a king and infinitely more appealing to my young eyes – dark hair, slightly longer than the fashion and a bit unruly. The tips of his hair framed a chiseled face, straight nose, high cheeks. He was beautiful, almost angelic, but something in his gaze warned me, even then, to run – run fast and never return.

I didn't listen to the warning, entranced as I was with his dark gaze. He was obviously tall, one leg carelessly hitched over the other as he waited for my reaction, and powerfully built. Broad shoulders clothed with a black, ancient looking suit.

It looked like he'd stepped out of some fairytale. But was it prince charming, or maybe the woodcutter who sat in front of me; or was it the wolf in grandmother's clothing, with some dark, depraved secret?

Little did I know that what he was and what he hid was beyond my wildest dreams.

"You are awake," his low voice rumbled with an unidentifiable accent – foreign to my ears.

"Uhm…." I started slowly, "…shit. My head hurts. Where am I?" I moved my hand up to poke at the side of my head; it was very tender and wrapped with some sort of fabric.

"My home," he replied, still not moving from his seat.

"You live in an abandoned mansion?" I asked, eyebrow raised with disbelief.

"Below it, actually," he replied. He seemed to be studying my movements, as if everything I did was infinitely interesting to him. The thought didn't disturb me as much at the time as it should have, but, after all, if he was going to hurt me wouldn't he have done it when I was sleeping and not when I was wide awake?

Teenage rationality – no one_ that_ good looking could be harmful, or want to do anything hurtful to me; why would it be any fun for anyone if your victim weren't conscious enough to remember it?

I brought my hand back down to check my fingertips; just as I'd thought, blood, but not much.

His eyes seemed to flash as he noted my injury, "You are hurt; allow me to inspect your injuries," the way he said it – it wasn't a request.

I don't know what possessed me to let him near, why I hadn't gotten up and run for the hills by then, but I sat there and did nothing as he slowly uncurled his body and made his way over me.

I was right, he was tall. His body moved precisely, almost like he was stalking closer to me, as if I was some kind of prey. I was, though I didn't recognize it. As silly as it was, I was almost excited to have the attention of such a handsome man.

Before I could really register what was happening, he was seated beside me on the bed. His body was large and obviously strong, but he moved towards me slowly, almost as if he didn't want to startle me away. And I was lost in his gaze – his timeless face lulling me into a sense of security that I should have never had.

"Turn your head, little one," he murmured, and I obeyed.

And then he touched me.

I haven't experienced anything quite like that first touch, and I doubt I ever will again. The power that flowed between us was electric, though I imagine it would have been pretty much the same with me as any other innocent, young girl. I just happened to be the one that fell down through his ballroom and knocked myself out on his floor.

I swayed into his body, curled into his touch, and let out a soft moan.

He stilled at my reaction, seeming to regain some of his senses and said softly, "Careful, you know not what you do."

But I hardly heard him; all I could hear was the blood rushing through my veins, all I could feel were the pads of his fingers slowly swirling their way through my hair, and all I wanted was for it to never stop.

His touch drifted lower, against the curve of my neck and down along my collar bone.

"You should leave now," he said, voice strained, but I curled myself closer to him and slowly darted my tongue out, flicking the tip along his neck.

I couldn't control myself.

His hand clutched at the back of my neck and tilted my head upward. I was liquid in his arms; he could have done anything to me at that moment and, hypnotized as I was, I would have let him.

But he merely brushed his lips against my cheek – they were so soft, I'd never felt anything so luscious and appealing. I'd never be able to get the feel of them out of my mind; I'd imagine the way they felt against me later, over and over, dream of other places where I longed to feel their touch.

Sighing softly, my eyes slid shut; so trusting then, so willing to be his little pupil.

I wonder at which point the student became the teacher?

His lips continued their slow trail to my mouth; first, they grazed the edge of my mouth, and then they caught my bottom lip between his.

I moaned softly from the contact – hoping, _needing_, for him to continue.

And then he kissed me.

I'd been kissed before, many times. I was pretty enough, I'd had my share of boyfriends and summer flings. Though nothing had prepared me for the intensity of that moment.

As soon as his mouth possessed mine, I lost all sense of who I was and, most importantly, where I was. Nothing else existed but the feel, taste, _touch_ of him against me.

His lips parted mine, tongue darting between to tangle sweetly with my own. His hands snaked around my side, trailing shivering sensations before one locked itself in my hair, though careful to avoid the bump at the side of my head.

I moaned into his mouth as his hands, lips – _teeth_ deepened the kiss and contact between us.

Then, in one swift movement, I was lifted into his lap and our positions switched, my legs straddling his hips, as he slid his other hand down to pull me firmly into his body.

I nearly cried out at the contact – it was too much –_ it was not enough_.

Tracing soothing patterns on my lower back, almost like he was trying to gentle the fear and expectation that were warring within me, he coaxed my tongue into his mouth – teaching me the rhythm and motions that I'd eventually become addicted to.

Sliding and twisting my tongue with his, the tip of my tongue flicked over a sharp canine, so sharp that if I'd pressed, it would have drawn blood.

Some part of me, something twisted and dark, wanted me to apply that pressure, to break through my flesh and have that moment swirl divinely and darkly around us.

I didn't – didn't get the chance because he'd sharply pushed my body back and off of his.

I don't know what stopped him. Knowing what I do now, he'd never displayed that kind of restraint before, and he never did again, to my knowledge.

It's almost as if he'd never seen me coming – never expected his salvation to literally come knocking on his door. So when I arrived, sacrificial lamb at his feet, I think he didn't know what to do with me right then.

It didn't matter; he knew, as I'd come to know, that I'd be back. There wasn't anything in the universe that would be able to keep us apart from each other.

His aura haunted my every waking and dreaming, moment. And I know the very thought of me, the fact that he'd had me there, in his arms, drove him to almost break his centuries long semi-seclusion to drag me back.

I think the shock registered deep within us: he, that there was the strength within him to hold back, and I, that I'd let things progress so far.

I disentangled myself from his bed, face flaming red.

_I am so stupid; how could I just let someone I only met treat me like that? Didn't I know better? Wasn't I raised better? Thoughts flew through my mind._

_Wasn't this dangerous?_

But all I could think, all my mind could hold onto, was that I _didn't even know his name_.

"Leave," was all he said. He didn't turn to watch me scurry from the room, didn't move as I made my way up the steep staircase, and out the first door I could find.

My heart was racing and it only half had to do with the fact that I'd sprinted, almost as if I was running for my life.

I checked my watch; it was two, my friends would be expecting me. I couldn't let them know what happened.

"Shit!" I cursed; I'd forgotten a token of my visit, except… I reached up into my hair only to find some sort of binding.

Of course, I'd forgotten that he'd tended to my injury; must have wrapped something around my head to keep me from bleeding all over the place.

I looked back over my shoulder, half expecting him to be standing there and half-disappointed when he wasn't.

_What the hell was that?_ I wondered as I ran back to my friends.

It would be years before I'd work up the courage to seek him out again; in hindsight, how our second meeting went was probably my fault, given that I'd not been able to work up the courage to see him for over five years.

And Beauty went willingly to the Beast…

All that he asked in exchange for her freedom, was three years of her life – one for every century that he'd been cursed.

And at the end of it all, Beauty would break the Beast's curse.

And he would break her heart.

Yet… even now, a small part of me wonders –hopes? That maybe, just maybe, it wasn't coincidence or a random occurrence, that there was a meaning to it all. That maybe I was chosen for this by some higher power, a trial to overcome...a great evil brought to its knees by the love of a fair maiden?

All I have is hope.

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A/N~ Weeeeeeeeeell! What do you think? This is old. Like literally ancient, but it's been floating around on my computer for a while (and originally was posted elsewhere, but deleted and reworked a bit). I've always had a thing for Beauty and the Beast and this fits the little Halloweeny feel pretty well.

Constructive feedback is greatly appreciated; if you hated it, that's fine; just be polite about your comments and I'll be polite about my replies, savvy?

Thanks for taking the time to read (and hopefully review). Also, I wrote most of this with a pretty wicked fever (a billion years ago), so if it's a little crazy, I just feel more creative when my mind's on fire ;)

Obviously, I don't own Final Fantasy or its characters, all I own is my dark, little story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Do not use in part or whole without the expressed permission of CNichole~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


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